


Made Of Our Smallest Thoughts

by TheBlindBandit



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Homeworld Hierarchy (Steven Universe), Implied Pearl/Rose Quartz (Steven Universe), Multi, Pearl Solidarity (Steven Universe), Rebellion, Renegade Pearl, pearls, pearlshipping week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlindBandit/pseuds/TheBlindBandit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three things that may or may not have happened to three pearls, and three things they may or may not have done. Coming full circle and paying it forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made Of Our Smallest Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Something of a continuation of [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5816509/chapters/13889026). A tiny reference to _The Handmaid’s Tale_ in the section titles.

**I. I want to be valued, in ways that I am not; I want to be more than valuable**

Above all, it’s hard to believe she’s real - many pearls don’t, when she tries to tell them about her. She isn’t so sure she would have believed herself, either, had she not witnessed it first-hand, and repeatedly.

The pearl who wants, openly and loudly and stubbornly and even proudly.

The pearl who fights and says no and defies Gems five times her size and galaxies beyond her by rank.

The pearl who serves by choice and, in strange, twisted turns of phrase that have no meaning on Homeworld, claims some sort of ownership of a quartz.

The pearl who does more than dream of stars, but who reaches out with mind and tools and skill to touch them.

But with all this, upon first seeing her, she couldn’t find anything immediately different between this Renegade and herself. It breeds a tempting thought: aren’t they all this, then? Can’t they all be this?

She doesn’t have the answer, but what she does have is very little but thinking to occupy her time waiting on Blue Diamond, and so, after some deliberation, she decides that they all have it in them to be _something_.

After a while, she decides to act on this knowledge, too.

She gathers whispers and barked-out orders both and makes sure they reach the right ears - information to help the rebels in their fight, ideas and ideals and suppressed truths to stroke the flame of rebellion where it is still only a spark. A new contingent of citrines is being shipped in to take the coastline; allowed the right training, an ordinary pearl can take down jaspers; Blue Diamond has summoned an esteemed sapphire seer to her court; Rose Quartz leads but doesn’t rule, and prefers to suggest rather than order; a visit from a well-known mica artisan will mean increased security around all of the spires she is to be working on; the Earth doesn’t care what you were made to be or what you were made to do.

Scouting patrol schedules are her favourite, perhaps - the Renegade always comes for them in person, immediately after the council sessions where they are approved by Blue Diamond. It turns into a little ritual between the two of them, a series of secret meetings and exchanges making full use of Blue Diamond’s proclivities as a creature of habit. As often as they meet, it still feels like they never have long enough, and she finds herself wondering if she could ever truly have enough of the Renegade’s whirlwind yet oddly comforting presence.

She is the first, but far from the last pearl to join the Renegade in her rebellion, though she never ends up truly leaving. She allows herself to feel pride for the ones who come after, the ones she helps smuggle away and send off to join the fight. Her own danger is just as real, even if the battlefield is different.

She learns things, and learns that doing so is both a frustration and a delight. She learns some basics of combat, at the Renegade’s urging and after many, many an instance of _just in case_ , though she doesn’t take to it all that well. Picking up a weapon and trying to become competent at defending herself in the midst of an armed uprising is certainly a sound self-preservation tactic. The things she does become proficient in are about self-preservation, too, if of a slightly different kind.

She learns that the Renegade is as impressive as she’d once seemed from afar, but not terrifying at all unless she wants to be, and never to her. She learns that they are both fond of touching and the comfort that can be derived from it - such a relatively simple thing, if monumental for their particular circumstances. She learns that the Renegade tends to fuss and worry, and that it should be taken as a sign of affection. As the rebellion takes a sharp turn towards open war and the threat of the rebels grows beyond anything the diamonds can easily conceal, her pleas become more and more frequent, and more and more impassioned.

“You could always come with me, you know.” She knows, but the Renegade belabours the point anyway. “Your help is invaluable, yes, but please- please remember you can leave, that you _should_ leave, if things become too dangerous for you here.”

She doesn’t answer. For thousands of years and long after the rebellion is over and the Earth abandoned as a costly but never acknowledged loss, her thoughts stay at _maybe someday_.

-

**II. I want to steal something**

“I should report you,” she sniffles messily into the light blue shoulder that, along with the small sliver of dimly-lit palace side passage she can still see, currently represents most of her world. No Diamonds for at least a few precious moments, and certainly no uppity peridots pointlessly angering them - and now no more holograms of strange sword-wielding pearls, either. She curls tighter into herself and into the arms gently placed around her, her actions in direct opposition to her words. “Preemptively. Unauthorised access to and spreading of prohibited material - with heavily implied seditious intent, no less - is a shattering offense.”

She’s never been more empty talk than she is now and, judging by the casual shrug of the other pearl’s shoulders, they are both very aware of this. But letting go of her haughtiness, real or pretend, is both difficult and a frightening challenge - if she isn’t this, then what _is_ she?

In the end, it’s easiest to be practical. “Why did you come here, anyway? Won’t your Diamond be looking for you? Oh, no, of course not, the conference is today, what a slip-up, how could I have _forgotten_ -”

It’s enough to launch her right back into a state, but the light circles the other pearl’s hands are drawing on her back provide at least something to try and focus on, something to restore enough peace of mind to make her presentable when the time to return to Yellow Diamond’s side inevitably arrives.

It’s the first such incident of many.

She learns, in time, that the blue pearl doesn’t speak much. But she hums, sometimes, and the strange barely-there melodies are the most soothing thing pearl has ever heard or felt. She learns she detests saying goodbye, and comes to resent the forbidden, necessarily secret nature of the physical touches she’s come to find so uniquely comforting. She never learns how the other pearl always manages to find her hiding places, or where she got that impeccable sense of timing.

“I don’t know _what_ that blue head of yours is full of,” she quips, often, “but it’s going to get you killed one day.”

Later, she doesn’t even notice until her… companion? points out, with one of those tiny smiles of hers, that at one point in their ever-lengthening acquaintance it seems to have become _It’s going to get_ ** _us_** _killed_. The blue pearl doesn’t elaborate further, and instead puts her hands around her gem in a familiar gesture, ready to produce some relevant and supposedly encouraging seditious hologram or other.

Pearl doesn’t know how to handle the spiking anger that she suddenly finds herself filled with, bitterly laced with the strange sense of inadequacy that’s been building in her from the very first time she laid eyes on the oft-replayed hologram of the fabled renegade.

“I’m right here!” Bursts out of her in the closest thing to a shout she dares in their hiding place. “She’s nothing more than a recording you keep replaying and if she was ever even real she’s probably been shattered a hundred times over, but I’m right _here_!”

She then gets stuck between _Do you even care?_ and _Why am I not enough?_ and never makes it any further before rushing off.

She doesn’t see the blue pearl for a long while after that, and tries to convince herself what a good thing it is, to be rid of such a dangerous, tempting nuisance. She goes back to doing as she’s told and she acts the model, perfect pearl, and most of all she tries - and fails - to forget. When Yellow Diamond isn’t looking - which is often enough - she scours logs and databases and tinkers with warp network and shipyard docking security measures.

 _I wish you could see me now_ , a small voice in her pipes up every time her fingers fly and reroute warp streams and secure restricted authorisation tokens, capable of making entire fleets functionally disappear, _even if just once, I want you to look at me like you look at_ ** _her_** _._

They meet again (as seemed entirely inevitable, but pearl doesn’t like admitting anything like defeat) for the occasion of Yellow Diamond receiving the news that her much-anticipated experimental cluster geoweapon failed to emerge.

It comes down to, finally, a trembling but fierce whisper of _Run away with me_. She never thought she’d be the one to say it, though her companion smiles as if it’s something she’s been expecting for a while.

She makes a small but reliable shuttle disappear from the records, and the two of them disappear with it.

-

**III. I want to be held and told my name**

The Earth is strange, in ways they can’t even begin to count or put into words.

The remnants of the Crystal Gems seem to have accepted the both of them with remarkably little hesitation, going so far as to allow them free movement around and within their base. Even in the face of this generosity, the two pearls huddle close, still, like they used to when even the idea of taking up space was foreign and forbidden, and whisper things to each other, like they used to when a raised voice was an all but certain sign of doom.

She toys with the ends of her companion’s hair and toys with the idea of brushing it away from her face to steal that rare glimpse of her eyes, but something makes her stop. The entire wood-based dwelling is peaceful, the image cube before them deactivated, and the idleness strange - and unfortunately conductive to disquieting, searching thoughts.

Is it enough? It’s enough.

It’s enough.

Scraps are enough, because they can stitch them together and…

But they’ve made it so far - far enough that the literal galaxies they’ve warped and jumped and flown through can’t even compare, and they can have so much more than scraps now, can’t they?

Maybe repetition is truly the key to success here, Yellow thinks. They are enough, and they deserve things, and most of all they deserve to merely _be_ , and… and if she tricks herself into believing these things enough times, they might even start to occur to her on their own.

“Yellow!”

Much like her new designation - or, rather, name. The odd little rose quartz hybrid creature called her that mere seconds after meeting her, and both she and the newly designated _Blue_ agreed with his choice - after all, it was the only practical way to distinguish between three ownerless pearls that seemed to be available at the time.

It’s not the inexplicably cheerful hybrid that’s calling her from the lower section of the dwelling, however. She hurries to disentangle herself from the mess of limbs and skirts that is a peacefully resting Blue - and with resting in itself being a relatively pleasant novel concept they have yet to fully take to, she doesn’t wish to disturb her more than absolutely necessary - then rushes to make herself presentable and answer the summons of none other than the infamous Renegade.

It’s difficult, figuring out how to act in front of someone who’s for so long been, to both her and Blue, so much more and so much less than just another pearl. A reviled traitor, a longed-for legend, a long-lost companion, someone whose very existence had, in Yellow’s mind, very often been called into question (even as she carefully kept those moments to herself - she owed that much to Blue, at least).

Appearances and standards are important even when semi-voluntarily exiled to a strange, backwater planet, Yellow firmly believes. Perhaps even _especially_ then. Being confronted with the Renegade, with _Pearl_ , increasingly makes Yellow feel like she has something to prove. Like being Pearl and being a pearl comprises something lofty she suddenly needs to live up to, somehow. The voice interrupts her thoughts again and brings her back around, along with a thousand mixed-up snippets of half-remembered holographic speeches.

“It’s not urgent, so no need to rush! And be careful about those stairs. I was just wondering if you wanted to - oh, there you are,” Pearl turns slightly away from the water-and-eating-utensils-filled basin she’s elbow-deep in, and frowns when she sees Yellow fussing with the probably irreparably rumpled diaphanous material on her shoulders. “You really don’t have to wear those anymore, you know.”

“Well, I like them,” Yellow snaps, and continues to tug on the right-side ruffle. If she sounds a tad defensive, it’s really not her fault - how is her appearance Pearl’s business, anyway? “They make me look… imposing.”

“No,” Pearl counters, annoyingly knowingly, “they make you look like _her_.”

Yellow can feel herself pull an unbecoming face. “Yes, well, Yellow Diamond _is_ imposing.”

“Perhaps. But do you want to know what I think?”

“Not really, but I’m sure I’m about to find out,” Yellow grumbles out. The damned stubborn rebel doesn’t even blink at her deliberate rudeness, and even has the audacity to _smile_.

“ _I_ think you’re imposing and impressive all on your own. You don’t need her.”

Yellow was prepared to give a dozen angry retorts, but this oddly-phrased almost-compliment catches her off guard. “M-maybe,” she admits, without quite knowing why she’s suddenly willing to consider these things and, even worse, admit them out loud - to someone who isn’t even Blue! “I don’t… I don’t know. Not yet. But…”

“Oh, it’s fine!” Pearl’s hand is on her shoulder now, in what she probably means as a reassuring gesture. Yellow forces back a flinch and warily eyes the patches of white, sweet-smelling bubbles stuck to her knuckles. “All in good time. It’s your choice now, after all - that’s rather the whole point, isn’t it?”

She makes it sound so _easy_ it feels irreverent and utterly disrespectful to what Yellow and Blue and likely thousands of other pearls have been through, and Yellow feels her frustration rise once again, robbing her of words fit for the confrontation she wants to force. “How do you do it?” Is what she manages, in the end, sounding rather desperate to her own ears, when she’d been aiming for aggressive. What she doesn’t say is: how do you take yourself, made to be slight and fragile and unassuming, only really _there_ when it is demanded, either putting on a meticulous performance or melting into the background; how do you take that, and make it something imposing and intimidating and powerful and so stubbornly, insolently, blatantly _free_? Surely it isn’t enough to hold a sword in your hand and wave it around a bit?

Pearl’s unexpected burst of laughter doesn’t sound altogether happy, but Yellow feels it cut like no blade ever could - something that clearly shows on her face, because Pearl rushes to reassure. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m not laughing at you, please believe me!”

“Then what _are_ you laughing at?”

Pearl shrugs. “Well, myself, mostly. This entire, er, situation. It took me a very, very long time to figure some things out, you know - and it’s a bit hard to believe some of them of myself, still, after all these years.”

“But how did you do it?” Yellow insists, wishing that for once someone could just present her with a clear-cut, straightforward answer and spare her the turmoil of figuring things out herself - even as that seemed to be the very core of this whole _freedom_ experience.

She doesn’t miss the way Pearl’s eyes dart to the portrait above the door. “Well, you see… I had support. From quite a few people. And I hope I can at least provide enough help to you and Blue to shorten that journey a little. Why, if I had my way, we’d all be-” But a small creaking noise interrupts her and Yellow doesn’t get to learn just then what Pearl would want to have, or even who is meant under the _we_. “Look, there’s Blue now - excellent. I think the three of us have a lot to talk about. Oh, I’m _so_ glad you’re finally here…”

They sit and talk - or, rather, Pearl talks, though she visibly does her best to invite and welcome inputs and questions and concerns of any kind. The three of them are left alone in what makes it all seem like a premeditated effort, probably including the fusion as a co-conspirator.

By the end of the day Yellow finds her still-reeling mind holding onto two things: first, she feels like she might come to understand Pearl’s passionate insistence that it is infinitely more rewarding to be the first of many than to be the one and only, and, second, it is now a cemented part of the reality of her life that she need never let go of Blue’s hand unless she wants to- or unless Blue wants her to- or in fact that there is a whole complicated system of _wanting_ there that she can’t wait to truly get to know.


End file.
